


the war outside our door (keeps raging on)

by Le_Tournesol



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, BAMF!Keith, BAMF!Lance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's KL centric but everyone else interacts, M/M, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Romelle is a social media superstar, Technopathy, Telekinesis, hydrokinesis, keith is done with everyone’s shit, super strength
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-06-26 09:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15660849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Tournesol/pseuds/Le_Tournesol
Summary: In the aftermath of the fourth world war, the Federation invites prodigies to join its ranks to protect society from Anarchists. Lance McClain is a prodigy who is proud to be part of one of the Federation's best teams, but a chance meeting with Keith Kogane sets him onto a path he never could've anticipated. Everything Lance thought he knew about the Federation is challenged, and the pair work together to uncover the truth that the leaders of the Federation would prefer to keep hidden.Or, Lance loves being a prodigy and a patrolman of the Federation. Keith hates prodigies and the Federation. And there's more to the story than either of them ever imagined.(Loosely inspired by The Renegades by Marissa Meyer)





	1. Immortals

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've had the worst writer's block, and then this happened? Tags will change as I go along. I've got a vague outline, but I'm honestly just gonna see where this takes me. Chapter titles are based on whatever song I listened to while I wrote the chapter. Chapter one was inspired by "Immortals" by Fall Out Boy.  
> Hope you like it!

Lance skids in the filthy water that’s collected on the rooftops, but he doesn’t slow. Lightning splits the sky in half. It’s followed by an immediate crack of thunder that feels like it shakes the entire city. Lance’s foot lands on the precipice, and he pushes off easily. For a moment, he feels weightless. He isn’t sure what it’s like to have the ability to fly, but he thinks this must be fucking close.

The rain pelts his face. His clothes catch on the wind. He soars over the alley like he’s strolling through the park.

It’s effortless. It’s effervescent. It’s infinite.

When he first joined the Federation, he would’ve shouted with glee, but years of training have refined his skills and his manners during a pursuit or battle.

He’s a professional, dammit. He’s part of Allura Altea’s team. They have a reputation of excellence, and Lance is determined to uphold it.

Lance lands on the ledge and dashes after the Anarchist in front of him. Lance’s foe seems confident that he’ll be able to outrun him, but Lance knows better. He’s leading this asshole right into a trap. Lance is almost surprised that this guy’s been giving the Feds enough trouble that Team Altea would be assigned to him. This has been so routine it’s almost boring.

Well, Lance thinks,boring isn’t the right word.

He loves this feeling. It’s thrilling. The way his heart thumps a staccato beat in his chest. The way his senses enhance and heighten to perfection. The way the air feels in his lungs.

The precision and adrenaline are heady, and it’s Lance favorite type of high.

Lance’s enemy jumps down to a fire escape and lands with a noisy clatter on a handful of garbage cans. The lids roll away. A stray cat hisses and scrambles to hide in a cardboard box. A wide-eyed child peers out of the window across from Lance. She presses her palm to the glass in awe, so he shoots her what he hopes is his most heroic smile. She grins. He figures he succeeded when she gives him an elated wave. He takes off again.

“Shroud, report,” Allura demands from his earpiece.

“I’m en route, Allegiant; we should reach the rendezvous point right on time,” Lance informs her.

“Copy. We’re in position.”

This guy isn’t going to know what hit him.

He and Lance round another corner, and Lance strikes.

Lance holds his hands out in front of him with loose fingers. He opens his palms and exhales. The temperature shifts. The environment changes. The storm continues to pour overhead, but it’s no longer visible to anyone in Lance’s range.

Mist rises before him. It’s thick and cold and impenetrable. Visibility lowers to zero.

But Lance has known this power since childhood, and he masters it all the more as time passes. He is immune to the disadvantage their foe now faces.

“No!” the man shouts. He whirls around in shock, “You’re a Prodigy?”

Lance stalks forward unseen and answers, “Undercover. The name’s Shroud. I bet you’ve heard of me?”

“Shroud? From Team Altea? Why... why are you after me? I’ve done nothing!”

Lance sighs. He’s heard these lines more times than he can count. They get old.

Panic begins to overtake the man, and he searches for a way out to no avail.

Allura steps into the fray. Her expression is calm and firm. She uses the goggles Pidge designed for her to see through Lance’s mist. “Rax Balmera, I am Allegiant of the Federation. You are hereby under arrest for your actions as an Anarchist. You will receive a fair trial and a sentence at a later date. Come quietly or we will use force,” Allura recites.

“Anarchist?” Rax echoes. “I’m... I’m not an anarchist! I’ve done nothing!”

“The court’s will determine the truth of that statement,” Allura glides toward him. “You will be subjected to a Lie Detector. The truth shall out.”

“No! No! I’m being set up! I’m unaffiliated! I’ve done nothing!” Rax asserts. He sounds stressed and angry, “I swear! I’m just a Block! I’ve done nothing!”

When Allura’s hand drops onto his shoulder, he jumps and lashes out.

Even without Lance’s veil, he never would’ve been able to defeat her. Allura’s impressive strength, speed, and agility make her a formidable opponent, but she doesn’t like for things to devolve to violence. They work well together. Lance wears out the Anarchists and more or less blinds them, and she arrests them. They’re a dream team.

Allura swings around effortlessly, grasps the man’s wrists, and pins them behind his back before she forces him to kneel. She cuffs him in one fluid motion.

Lance inhales and snaps his fingers.

The veil dissipates.

Lightning flickers.

“Collection complete,” Allura tells Pidge over the comms. “Send in Officer Shiro.”

“Roger, Princess,” Pidge replies.

Two minutes later Shiro pulls up in a black Federation patrol car with a Silencer. Rax’s eyes dart to Lance, and he pleads, “Please, please, I’m telling the truth. Please. Help me. I have a family.”

Lance turns his head away. He hates this part, but it’s his job to protect the citizens of Daibazaal from Anarchists.

Shiro and the Silencer step out of the car together, and the Silencer makes a quiet beeline for the Collected. She places a hand over his mouth, and his voice vanishes. No matter how hard Rax tries to shout or scream or beg, he’s inaudible. Shiro hauls him to his feet, guides him into the back seat, and shuts the door.

“Well done, Team Altea,” Shiro congratulates. “Honerva’s had this guy at the top of her list for weeks. She’ll be pleased.”

“Pleased enough for a raise?” Lance probes, but Shiro laughs.

“Your review is soon, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I _really_ want to get the new gaming system, and I’d need an advance on my salary at this rate.”

“Your finances are atrocious,” Allura comments. He sticks out his tongue, so she rolls her eyes. “Really, Lance.”

Shiro beams as he watches their exchange.

Allura, realizing she’s making a small spectacle of herself, schools her features and turns her full attention to Shiro, “Are we all still on for dinner this Friday? Will Adam be able to get off work early enough?”

Shiro nods, “Yep. We’ll be there at six.”

“Excellent,” Allura claps her hands, “Hunk is going to bring pie. It should be a lovely evening.”

They converse for another beat or two before Shiro figures he should head back to the Federation. They bid him goodbye, and then Allura turns her attention to her cousin, “All right. We should head back to base, too, so we can debrief and call it a day.”

“Lead the way, Princess.”

 

Lance isn’t a fan of paperwork or debriefings, but they’re standard with any mission, so he suffers through it with some aplomb. An hour after their successful apprehension of the Anarchist Rax, they’re finally cleared to leave for the day. Lance sees Allura to the train station, where she takes the Number 2 while he boards the Number 11.

He catches up with Hunk over the phone during his fifteen minute ride, and they finish up talking right when his train lurches to a stop at his platform. A small crowd lumbers down the stairs alongside Lance, and he greets a few familiar faces before he makes his way to his favorite Bodega. It’s a block up from his apartment building, and they sell the best sandwiches and fried pickles in the Northwest. Sal rings him up and hands him his usual fare, and Lance leaves a dollar in the tip jar. The bell jingles as he opens the door and steps back onto the busy sidewalk.

Lance decides to meander back to his building in favor of taking the direct path. The storm had passed, and Lance wanted to enjoy the lingering scent of rain on the pavement. He snags an empty bench on NW8th,  sits his bag next to him, and chows down while listening to the sounds of the city around him.

It’s alive, and he loves it.

Some people hate the raucous thrum of Daibazaal’s capitol, but he craves it like his mother’s cooking. It’s a constant reminder of all the people around him at all times. Civilization thrives again in a way that no one could’ve imagined two decades ago.

Lance was a child, but he remembers the war.

It was a different world.

Food was scarce. Loss was common. Destruction was frequent.

Everything was uncertain. Nothing was guaranteed.

Lance can recall the shrill sirens that signaled an incoming threat. They’d evacuate all the students to the bomb shelter, and he’d huddle with his siblings in the dark while the Earth shook over their heads.

Chaos was the only normal Lance knew.

And then an incredible group of prodigies rallied together and took a stand.

When Lance was six years old, the forces of good were led by Alfor and Laura Altea and Zarkon and Honerva Galran into a battle that changed the tides of war and secured the future.

Many prodigies perished in the final skirmish, including Alfor, Laura, and Zarkon, but they prevailed over Sendak’s corrupt forces.

Honerva was elected to spearhead the reconstruction effort and fortify and protect the country against threats, like the Anarchists who crept up right after the war.

And Lance can now live in a world where the war is only a memory.

He’s glad that an entire generation has grown up without the horror, and it’s all thanks to the prodigies and the Federation.

He takes a deep breath.

And then the tranquility comes to a screeching halt.

Caught up in his recollections and daydreams, Lance doesn’t notice that something is amiss until it vaults over him.

“Get back here, Kogane!”

Lance blinks.

_What the fuck?_

Did this guy just fucking jump over him, like he was a piece of furniture or an inanimate object? What a bag of dicks.

Indignant, Lance gripes, “Dude! What is your problem?”

And then he gets a good look at the Parkour Champion in front of him.

And flushes.

Because

_Oh, shit, he’s hot._

The warm light of sunset surrounds him like a halo. The guy is smaller than Lance in stature, and he’s thin and pale. He wears a worn maroon jacket made of leather, black leggings, and boots. His long dark hair is tied up in a messy bun, and he has the most beautiful fucking eyes Lance has ever seen. They’re fierce and intense, and holy shit, they’re _purple_.

“Uhhh,” Lance stares.

Focus. Focus, Shroud. Fuck.

The guy bolts.

And Lance can’t even yell at him to _stop_ or _wait_ or _get back here_ because a fucking boot connects with his head and a knee lands on his back. His sandwich flies out his hands as he’s bowled forward, and some jackass lands on top of him.

“Okay, what the hell!?” Lance exclaims as he springs out from underneath the idiot that fell on him. An amalgam of members from one of the lowly gangs in area are in a state of disarray before him. They struggle to right themselves and try to chase down Hot Guy, who Lance figures is probably the aforementioned Kogane.

Annoyed, Lance reaches into his pocket for his ID badge, which he proceeds to flash at the various offenders, “All right, assholes, enough!” Lance grunts. “Federation Operative Lance McClain.”

He’s glad Allura isn’t here. This isn’t a great demonstration of his so-called professionalism.

“Shit, it’s a Fed!”

Most of the thugs scatter, but a few continue to race after Kogane, who clears civilians, lampposts, patios, bikes, and more with the grace of an olympic athlete before he turns into byway that Lance knows has no outlet. Four of the goons follow him, which Lance doesn’t consider a fair fight.

Lance swerves after them with his hands already raised.

And then he notices that Kogane is smirking.

But it’s too late.

Lance exhales.

The dense fog settles over the area like a blanket.

Lance disables and cuffs the bad guys with practiced dexterity and secures them all to a door handle.

He snaps and inhales.

And gets shoved in the chest for his effort.

“Hey!” Lance grouses. “You’re welcome!”

The guy scowls at him, “Stay out of my way.”

“Huh?” Lance sputters, “Excuse you! I’m an Officer of the Federation! This is my jurisdiction, and you’re in _my_ way!” Lance pokes him in the chest with a righteous finger, but Kogane swats his hand and away and ignores him. He stalks over to the heap of trash stacked against the fence. He kicks a box aside, grabs onto a ratty tarp, and shakes it out, which reveals a red dirt bike. He swings a leg over it, starts the engine, and revs it twice. Lance’s brain catches up to the situation at hand, and he calls out an unheeded warning. Suddenly, the tires squeal as Kogane completes a 180 degree turn and guns it back onto the street, where he disappears into the heavy traffic.

Lance kicks a dumpster in frustration, “Sonofabitch!” He rounds on the thugs, “Who the fuck was that guy?” No one speaks. “Oh, come on! Not gonna talk? Fine!” Lance hits a button on his wrist cuff, “The police will be here soon.”

Lance doesn’t bother waiting on law enforcement. Instead, he hurries back to his apartment while grumbling under his breath. His good mood spoils like milk left out in the sun.

It had been such a good day, too!

The mission had gone off without a hitch, he’d gotten his favorite meal, and he was looking forward to a chill evening to himself.

Now he had a fucking headache.

Groaning, Lance steps through the door to his studio and faceplants onto the couch.

He didn’t sign up with the Federation for the gratitude. Sure, it was nice, but he just wanted to help people. It’s been awhile since he’s met such an ungrateful jackass.

Seriously. What a prick.

He’s probably a felon or something.

Well, Lance can handle as much. He’s got access to an entire database of information, and it’s his job to keep the people safe from lowlifes and petty criminals.

When Lance closes his eyes, he can still see his pretty face.

Ugh. Why did he have to be so attractive?

Lance buries his face in the cushions and berates himself for letting a cute guy ruin his day, but he’s always been a sucker for a beautiful face.

It doesn’t matter, though. He’s got to protect the innocents, and he doesn’t have a case scheduled for tomorrow yet.

He’ll have plenty of time to learn anything he needs to know about Kogane.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://www.sunflower-le-Tournesol.tumblr.com)


	2. How Far We’ve Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith doesn’t appreciate Lance’s help.

Keith weaves his bike in and out of traffic with practiced ease. He leans forward as he twists the throttle and shoots through a yellow light before it can turn red. Someone honks. He flips them off.

Honestly, he knows better than to drive recklessly. Shiro would’ve shit a brick if he could see him now. But Shiro’s not here. He’s with the Federation. And Keith can do whatever the fuck he wants. 

When the cars start to thin, Keith picks up speed. The bike’s engine roars as he races along the freeway. When the road curves sharply, Keith doesn’t slow; he relies on instinct to take him through the turn.

Driving has always come naturally to him. It’s fortunate because it’s his preferred method for blowing off steam.

And he needs an outlet right now.

Because of that fucking prodigy. 

Keith takes a hard turn and presses the bike to its limits.

He’s so sick of the careless, entitled fuckers that call themselves the Feds and think they’re a gift to society. They’re so blind they can’t see past their own noses. They’re a menace.

He’d gone to a lot of effort to set up the Redford gang, and some asshole blew the whole operation right at the end. Keith needed that money. It was just enough to make ends meet. Now he’s not sure how the fuck he’s going to pay his rent.

He is  _ not _ going back to living on the streets. 

Keith chews his lip as he grouses to himself. 

And then he hit the breaks.

Hard.

Abruptly, he realizes where he’d gone while his mind wandered, and he cringes. Fuck. How’d he end up here? He’s in the heart of it, too. It surrounds him on all sides, and he slows and dismounts. 

Suddenly he’s got a better idea of how to appropriately channel his rage. 

He walks. He doesn’t have to think about it. He just lets his feed guide him around the abandoned warehouses and empty structures until he gets to a familiar pile of rubble.

And then he screams.

With a furious cry, Keith stomps on a board and kicks at the broken glass. Garbage shifts and creaks, and a snake hisses when its sleep is disturbed. It slithers from its hiding spot among the destruction and gives Keith a wide berth as it searches for a new place to rest.

Keith ignores it. 

Grunting, Keith continues his assault until his chest heaves and sweat drips down his face. 

And then he sits in the dirt and stares and drifts and deflates.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see what once stood here. 

It wasn’t the nicest neighborhood, and it was in the warehouse district, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Housing was hard to find after the war for anyone who could be tied to Sendak’s forces or an Anarchist. 

Keith doesn’t remember his mother. His dad told him that she’d died during the war shortly after he was born, but Keith knew there was more to the story. He knew why they were stuck in this area while others rebuilt in the cities, and his theory was confirmed when he eavesdropped on a conversation between his dad and their neighbor.

She was arrested as an anarchist during a raid, and she was executed for her crimes. 

Keith leans back on his hands. The cicadas hum in the distance. The ground is still wet from the storm, and it soaks through his pants as the gritty dirt digs into his palms. 

His dad worked tirelessly to prove to the Federation that he wasn’t an Anarchist or a sympathizer. He asserted that he’d had no idea his wife was involved with the Anarchists. 

The Koganes were “lucky.” 

They were put on a probationary period and assigned a decade in the warehouse district where they would be inspected at random.

But the warehouse district didn’t make it a decade.

Keith can still hear the ominous lurch of crumbling infrastructure. He can smell the smoke. He can remember how it burned his eyes, and how he screamed himself hoarse as he shouted and shouted and shouted as the building collapsed around him. 

Now a scar begins just below his eye and cuts across his face where it dissipates under his jaw. It marks him. It’s faded with time, but he will never forget the horror it represents every time he sees his own face in the mirror. 

It’s not his only souvenir from that day.

Keith sighs and rises to his feet. There’s no point staying here. There’s no reason to dredge up old ghosts and old memories. 

He’s got bigger problems now anyway.

Keith rides back to the Northwest and parks his bike in the shadows next to his building. He chains it to a thick pipe and throws a tarp over it. 

Lost in thought, he takes the stairs two at a time and considers his options. 

He can’t be late on his rent again. 

He doesn’t like to gamble, but he really doesn’t like to result to petty theft and the black market. 

The dilemma takes a backseat when a distressed sound meets his ears. 

Looking at the top of the next landing, he sees Shay sitting with her head in her hands as her shoulders shake. Keith frowns. Shay is kind and genuine, which isn’t common in this neighborhood. She and Keith get along pretty well. She moved onto his floor with her grandmother the same year that he moved into the building. She’s sensitive and compassionate, but he’s never seen her cry or look so broken. 

A spike of rage and worry accelerates his heartbeat. 

“Shay?” he asks. His voice is a little raspy from his earlier episode. “What’s... Are you okay?”

Startled, her hands fall away from her tearstained face. When she sees him, she tries to compose herself. She wipes at her eyes, but she can’t seem to stem the flow. She sniffles, “Oh, hello, Keith. I’m... okay.” Her shoulders sag under the weight of the lie, and she murmurs, “You probably didn’t believe that, did you?” Keith shakes his head and takes the spot next to her on the stairs. Shay studies her knees before she continues, “I... Do you remember my brother? Rax?” Keith nods. “I...He... He was arrested today... as... an Anarchist.” She whispers this to him, and her voice breaks on the last word.

“I’m sorry, Shay,” Keith says. He feels a little out of his depth. 

“No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have broken down in the stairwell,” Shay defers. “I just don’t know how to tell my grandmother the news. It’ll break her heart. Her health can be so touch-and-go.” The tears well up again, but she bites her lip and reins them in. “And I just... I can’t believe Rax was working with the Anarchists.” 

Keith doesn’t know what to say to her. He knows that she and Rax were orphaned during the chaotic period that followed the war. They’d even lost a brother and their grandfather. Rax was outspoken in his disdain for the Anarchists that took his family. It was hard to believe he’d join their ranks.

“He’ll have a trial. The truth will come out,” Keith reassures her, but he doesn’t believe his own words. He doesn’t trust the Feds anymore than the Anarchists. Sometimes he trusts them even less. At least the Anarchists are upfront about their agenda. 

Shay takes a deep breath and finds her resolve, and Keith helps her to her feet. She smoothes her skirt and thanks him. They go up the last flight of stairs together. Keith walks her to her apartment. She gives him a watery smile, and he gets a glimpse of the Balmera matriarch knitting in her rocker before the door swings shut. 

_ Fuck this day _ , Keith thinks absently as he lets himself into his own apartment. It’s dark, the only light coming from the fluorescent lights of the city, and it takes a second for his eyes to adjust. Ppalkkan yowls at him in greeting before he winds around his ankles and purrs. Keith drops a hand onto his head and runs it down his spine, and the cat chirps appreciatively before skittering away to take his place in the window, where he watches the birds, the bugs, the cars like a sentry at his post. 

Keith falls heavily onto the the sofa bed without bothering to change his clothes. Now that the fierce anger has left him, now that he’s spoken with Shay, he just feels drained and empty. 

He’s not usually one to procrastinate, but he decides that tomorrow’s worries can wait until tomorrow. He’ll figure it out. 

He always figures it out somehow. 

_ Stupid Fed _ , Keith thinks again.  _ Self-righteous, self-assured Prodigy. .  _

Keith’s fucking sick of the lot of them, Feds, Prodigies, Anarchists.

He wishes they would leave him the fuck alone. 

With a tired huff, Keith drags the tattered blanket over himself and shuts his eyes, and Ppalkkan leaves his perch to settle obediently on Keith’s chest.

The hum of his purr lulls Keith to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rawr. I was looking through my WIPs and got hit with some inspiration. I didn’t like the draft when I wrote it, but after some time I liked it better so I just polished it off. 
> 
> Please leave feedback.


	3. Timber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance does some investigating and stumbles onto an illegal street fight ring.

Lance groans as he returns to his desk and blinks at the harsh light of his laptop’s screen. He doesn’t know why he thought it would be a slow day. Allura doesn’t  _ believe _ in slow days. 

As soon as he walked in that morning, Allura was waiting for him in the bullpen. When he asked if he could at least finish his coffee, she shook her head and pulled him off to one the in-house gyms she had reserved for their use. 

Romelle and Pidge were both already there. Romelle, who is as chipper as usual, was sitting in a split with her front and back leg propped up on blocks. She was bent into an arc with the crown of her head touching the back of her knee, arms stretching out to cup her foot, and she flicked her fingers idly to scroll through her social media page. 

“Good morning, Flux,” Lance greeted, and the animated girl flashed him a smile and bid him the same. “Any new followers?”

“64.1k,” she grinned. Funny, darling, and beautiful, Romelle was their social media superstar. The Feds even encouraged her because it was good publicity and great for PR, and people just couldn’t get enough of Romelle helping the elderly, holding puppies, goofing off,  and sharing her favorite yoga flows. 

Lance drops down on the ground next to Pidge and nudges her with his knee, “You awake, Gremlin?”

“Begrudgingly,” Pidge grouses as she pretends to warm up. She’s slumped over knees in child’s pose, and Lance hears her grumble something unflattering about Allura. 

Lance laughs. He is neither the morning person nor the night owl, but somewhere between the two in the room. 

Allura is the last to enter, and she surveys them with a smile and her hands on her hips. Everyone’s in their standard-issued workout garb, t-shirts and tanks in various shades of purple and gray, leggings or shorts or track pants in the same. The symbol for the Federation is emblazoned in various places, and some of them even have their motto,  _ Vrepit Sa, _ printed on the back. 

Allura clapped  her hands together before she addressed the room, “All right, squad, we have the room for the next two hours. We’ll have a quick break, and then I want to run some new drills and simulations.” 

Melodramatically, Lance fell back on his hands and whined  in anticipation. New drills? New simulations? Allura was in a ruthless mood. 

“I’ve cleared your schedules for the next few days, so we will have ample time to perfect these new countermeasures,” Allura continues brightly, like she isn’t prescribing them a week of pain and sore muscles. 

“Watch out, Anarchists!” Romelle cheers as she rights herself. Pidge makes a noncommittal sound in response, but doesn’t make any effort to move.

“Let’s get started!”

After three days of Allegiant’s training, Lance is wiped. With an hour left of his Friday shift, he finally has a chance to sit at his desk and drink a recovery shake undisturbed. 

He almost forgets to search the database for information on No First Name Kogane.

Almost.

It’s not his most professional moment, but if anyone asks why he’s looking up a stranger’s information, he’ll just tell them that guy seemed suspicious. 

Cracking his knuckles, Lance sets to work and dives into the system. It takes more digging than he anticipated, but he manages to find three Koganes.

The first two are dead, an Anarchist and an Anarchist-sympathizer, so it must be the third. 

Bingo, Lance thinks, as he clicks on the name KOGANE, AKIRA KEITH. 

Lance skims the page for basic information. 

Akira Kogane is twenty three, two years younger than Lance, but he’s wracked up a number of petty charges. He’d been arrested three times, but he’d only spent one night in a cell. Lance does some math in his head and realizes that Akira’s first run in with the law would’ve occurred when the guy was only eleven, when he’d been caught breaking and entering.  

He doesn’t appear to currently be a member of any gang, but he’d spent some of his teen years running with one of the local gangs. 

He isn’t a Prodigy. His status is listed as UNAFFILIATED, but his profile is still flagged. 

Huh, Lance thinks, as he clicks on the little orange banner. The link opens a new window that lists his parents as KOGANE, KIM AKIRA and KOGANE, KROLIA ANNELIESE, an ANARCHIST-SYMPATHIZER and ANARCHIST. 

The information is consistent with his search, so he tabs over and reads through their profiles. Akira’s father’s is pretty brief and has more to do with his affiliation with Krolia than anything he’d particularly done. All Lance learns the man wasn’t a prodigy. 

Krolia’s turns up a bit more. 

It was pretty scarce, likely since her death occurred during the war when society was still in shambles. Lance imagines if it were a paper file instead of a digital amalgamation, it would’ve gathered twenty some years of dust. 

There’s no real information about her involvement in the Anarchist party. It simply lists her under their name, and describes her Prodigy ability as MIND MANIPULATION, which Lance decides is scary as hell.

He can’t imagine what kind of damage with an Anarchist with the ability to control others’ thoughts could do. He shudders and moves onto the line about her trial and execution, and he frowns when he realizes both occurred on the same day. 

He knows it wasn’t uncommon during the war, and Krolia was dangerous. Nonetheless, something about it still unsettles him. 

He can’t help but be glad for the due process of their improved justice system. 

“The truth will out,” he mutters aloud to himself. 

Lance takes another cursory scroll through the page, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to learn anything else. 

He logs out with a tired exhale and shuts off the computer. 

He folds a hand over his eyes and takes a moment to rest. He nearly nods off at his desk, but his phone rings and Hunk’s picture lights up on the screen. 

When he answers, Hunk greets him and launches into an immediate question about which pies to bring to Shiro’s. “I’ve got the usual, like apple, cherry, lemon meringue, key lime, and chess, but we were a little slow today so I had some time try out a few new recipes? Like, I made a blackberry-peach pie, and I want everyone’s opinions before I add it to the menu at the shop... but what if it’s not good?”

With a little effort, Lance manages to convince Hunk to bring the new pie. “I want to be the first to try the new Hunk Garrett original,” Lance says. “It makes me feel special.” 

“Okay, okay, fine, but I’m bringing apple as a back up,” Hunk says. “You still at the office?”

Lance breathes a long sigh, “Yeah. Allura doesn’t deserve pie.” 

“You wanted to be Team Altea,” Hunk points out. “Wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and it was an uphill battle,” Lance acquises. To be fair, it really was a tough process. When he’d tried out for the Federation, his acceptance had been Challenged by Lotor, Zarkon and Honerva’s son. He’d insisted that Lance’s ability to manipulate water vapor wouldn’t be of much help. Lotor was the only non-Prodigy in the Federation, which seemed like nepotism to Lance. Lotor was only a few years older than Lance, and he wasn’t even a significant asset to the war effort; in fact, Lotor had been kept out in the country away for the bulk of it, hidden from danger unlike so many children who were forced to suffer. 

No matter his origins, Lotor was still an impressive force on the field. 

Lance barely defeated him. Truthfully, even Lance knew his victory was a fluke.  

Lotor had never gotten over Lance’s cheap triumph, and Lance could never forget all the shit Lotor had said about him when he Challenged Lance’s tryout. 

Regardless, the Federation was obligated to accept him after he won the Challenge. Lance started at the bottom of pack, but he was determined to get to his cousin’s level. 

It took a lot of late nights of training, but he got there, dammit.

Hunk’s reply shakes Lance from his memories, and the pair exchange a few pleasantries and agree to meet at the train station near Hunk’s bakery. Thankfully, it was only a few blocks away from headquarters, so if Lance left now, he could make the next train, and they wouldn’t need to rush to Shiro and Adam’s. 

After a quick glance at the clock, Lance says, “Be there in ten.”

 

By the time Lance gets off the train home several hours later, he’s full of pie and fuzzy feelings. Getting the whole gang together always made him feel better about everything, and now he’s looking forward to a restful weekend of Chinese takeout and video games. 

He deserves it. 

And he probably would’ve gotten it if he’s just stayed for one more round of board games. 

“Well, I’m worn out because my boss is such a jerk,” Lance quipped. Allura shoved him off the couch, and there was a round of laughter. 

So he left a little early, and unknowingly changed the course of his life. 

When Lance steps off the platform and takes the shortcut through the alley, the sound of a heavy door squeaking open startles him. Blinking to force his vision to clear in the darkness, he realizes he’s looking at the back entrance of a rundown shop that had sat empty for years. 

_ Weird _ , he thinks. He crouches behind the dumpster to wait. It’s possible he’d misheard the noise, but he wants to be sure. 

He may not be on the clock, but it’s the Federation’s job to keep the people safe. It’s why they paid their patrolmen like Lance more if they lived in an unsavory part of the city. 

Weariness forgotten, Lance hunkers low. 

Five minutes pass without any foot traffic, but his patience is rewarded when a few goons from a local gang skulk straight for the door. 

Without preamble, their leader raps his knuckles in a sharp, precise pattern, and the door opens to reveal a familiar face. 

_ The Warden _ , Lance thinks as his eyebrows lift to his hairline. 

Fuck, this is is lucky day. 

This is the  _ Ring _ ! 

The Feds have been trying to get shit on this illicit organization for  _ years _ . 

If he can get a lead tonight, evidence, it would be a serious victory for the Federation.

Even though he wants to rush right into the thick of it, he forces himself to wait a few more minutes before he walks up to the door a taps out the same beat with his fist. 

And holy shit it  _ works _ . 

He’d dirtied up his clothes and face, and he covered his hair with a hat. The finishing touch was a very, very fine layer of mist to conceal his blue eyes and obscure them to an unremarkable gray. 

The Warden says nothing to Lance, like he’s beneath his notice, so Lance follows the noise to the heart of the gathering. 

He’s not disappointed.

He takes the stairs to the basement level and follows an old tunnel, a remnant of the war, into the next building. The air is thick and dank, but a raucous crowd gives the old structure a livelier feel.

The hall opens to an enormous room with hastily constructed rings and bleachers. A number of nefarious characters weave in and out of the throng collecting and distributing money. Betting, Lance knows, they bet on the contestants. 

And then he sees the main event, the Ring’s most infamous sport: MMA fights. 

There are several fights taking place at any given moment, but Lance is drawn to the second ring. 

A towering giant of a man is leering over the panting form of a much smaller fighter. The latter is still on his feet, but sweat drips from his figure and a ribbon of blood seeps from a cut on his side. 

When he turns to throw a punch, Lance realizes that a gash over the fighter’s brow has made his face into a bloody mess.

_ Yikes _ , Lance thinks as he watches. Surely this round is about over. He misses the next few swings because he recognizes a few of the petty criminals he busted during his early days in the Federation, so he has to duck around the spectators.

He happens to get toward the front of the ring just as the fight comes to an end.

His brain doesn’t really register what he’s seeing.

One second the big guy is shoving the little guy, but then the smaller fighter grabs him and pulls him off his feet. He crashes to the ground, and the smaller fighter deftly maneuvers to get his legs around the big one’s neck and squeezes until he loses consciousness. 

_ What... the fuck? _

The winner rises unsteadily to his feet, and the judge steps forward and shouts, “Match 7 goes to Red!”

There’s a whoop of joy from a few lucky gamblers, and a rumble of dissent among the losers. 

The winner stalks over to the corner and grabs his discarded t-shirt, which he uses to wipe the blood off face and abdomen. He presses the ruined shirt to his brow to staunch the flow, and Lance finally gets a good look at his face. 

And he realizes that he’s looking at Akira Kogane.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Keith is Keith, but Lance doesn’t realize Keith goes by Keith yet, which is why he’s calling him Akira for now.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated!


	4. Glitter and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith would like it if Lance would kindly fuck off.

Keith dodges another blow before dropping into a crouch and kicking his opponent’s legs out from underneath him. The move is fluid, like a choreographed fight in a movie, and it’s practiced. 

People tend to lose their center of gravity once they’ve thrown a wild punch, and Keith learned to take advantage of it long ago. 

The Federation’s hastily created foster system for war orphans was far from ideal. It was saturated and poorly managed.

And no one wanted a kid whose mom was an Anarchist criminal. 

No one good anyway.

By the time Keith was eight, he knew he was better off trying to make it on his own, and the system sure as hell didn’t miss him. 

Living on the streets was tough, but Keith was tough too, and he learned survive.

The skills still served him well today. 

One fight becomes two, three, and four. His final adversary of the night is a favored champion who is well known for his physical size and his heavy fists. 

Keith has to wait for an opening to take the guy out, so he takes a bit of damage as the fight drags on. He’s pretty tired from this first three, and his fucking side hurts like a bitch due to a wild kick in the ribs from the previous match. 

When his opponent finally makes a mistake, Keith capitalizes on it. The brute is sure he can push Keith over and whale on him while he’s down, but Keith uses his own momentum against him when he  _ pulls.  _ The guy is so surprised at the take down that Keith has plenty of time to get his thighs around his neck and  _ squeeze _ . 

And then it’s all over and he’s hopefully fucking  _ done _ for the night. 

He wanders over to Rolo, who’s handling the cash flow of participants tonight while Nyma helps the group working the betting pool. Rolo takes a drag off his cigarette and blows a smoke ring when he sees Keith coming.

_ Obnoxious asshole _ , Keith thinks scornfully. 

“Here to cash out?” Rolo asks, flicking ash to the dirty floor. Keith nods, and Rolo leads him to the back where he’s keeping the big money this evening. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay? I can make it worth your while.”

“I’m cashing out,” Keith repeats. 

“Suit yourself,” Rolo shrugs and twists out his cigarette on a battered old table. “You got a lot of talent, man. You could earn big with the Ring.” 

Keith rolls his eyes while Rolo sorts bills and counts out his winnings. It’s just enough to pay his rent for two months, but he’ll be sore for at least four weeks. He’s definitely bruised his ribs, and the knuckles on his right hand are so swollen he’s sure he won’t be able to flex his fingers tomorrow or the next day. 

At least the landlord isn’t going to throw him out on his ass.

Keith pockets the money, and Rolo tosses him a bottle of water and tells him to clean up before he leaves. “You’ll leave a bread crumb trail right to us,” he insists.

Keith does what he can with the shirt and the water, and then he discards the tacky thing in the corner. Keith rifles around in a drawer until he finds his jacket, and then he tugs it on a pulls the hood low over his face. 

The walk home is unpleasant. He feels lighter, but only metaphorically. Some financial stability is always a good thing. Physically? He feels like shit, and putting one foot in front of the other is a nightmare. 

He’s hunched awkwardly over his ribs, and he still needs to disinfect the cuts and stitch up his side when he gets home.

Usually, he winds an odd path back to his place if he finds himself desperate to put himself in the hands of the Ring.

Tonight, he decides that he’s fucking tired, so he doesn’t.

When he’s less than a block from his apartment building, he suddenly wishes he’d meandered and been more careful because someone is definitely following him.

He should try to lose his tail, but he doesn’t feel like running away tonight. The last dregs of Adrenalin are ready to come the surface to  _ fight, flee, or freeze,  _ and the memory of swinging his fists to  _ strike _ and  _ hurt _ makes them err toward  _ fight _ . 

Based on their footsteps and silhouette, Keith knows the stranger isn’t alarmingly large or bulky, so when he rounds the next corner he lifts his hands to protect his face and says, “Enough. I know you’re there. Show yourself.” 

There’s a heavy sigh, and then somebody scuffs their foot and kicks a pebble. A tall, lanky man steps out of the shadows with his hands in his pockets.

“What do you want?” Keith demands. 

“Information,” he answers cryptically. “Mostly.” 

Keith’s features grow malevolent with scorn, “Go fuck yourself.”

“I’m just trying to do you a favor, dude,” he placates. “You can talk to me now, or I can issue a formal summons and you can come downtown.”

“You’re a Fed?” he sneers. “What kind of underhanded bullshit is this? You’re threatening me? You have nothing on me.” 

“I know you fight with the Ring,” he answers. “I know you’ve got an arrest record. I know your mother was an Anarchist, and your dad was a sympathizer. Seems like enough to me.”

Keith swears and curses his own rotten luck. He’s managed to keep the authorities off his ass for a few years now, and then this guy comes out of nowhere with Keith’s life story on the tip of his tongue.

“So,” the Fed continues as he steps under the dim light of a street lamp, “How’re we going to play this?” 

Suddenly, Keith places the face. He growls, “You’re that asshole that fucked up my job last week.”

“I’m that asshole who saved your pasty butt, you mean,” he counters, but then his face drops. “Wait. I didn’t mean... I’m not an...  _ You’re _ an asshole!”

“Clever,” Keith scoffs drily. “You’re a paradigm of Federation.” 

“I’ll have you know that I’m a top operative for Team Altea,” he contends. 

Keith stops and considers his words. He recognizes Altea because who wouldn’t? Regardless, there’s something deeper niggling at the back of his mind. Something Shay had mentioned in the last few days, he thinks. It escapes him though.

“Hey, Earth to Akira, come in,” the Fed waves a hand in his face. 

Keith recoils, partly because the guy’s in his face and partly because  _ Akira _ ? What the fuck? Why the fuck does his asshole know his name, a name that he doesn’t even use? 

Shit,  _ are _ the Feds onto him? Will he be on trial soon? Fuck. 

_ Play it cool _ , he reminds himself. He swats the hand away, “It’s Keith.”

“Well, Keith, are you going to invite me back to your place or should I plan to see you in an interrogation room one day next week?”

Keith mulls it over. Talking to a Fed makes his skin crawl, but he can’t afford another notch on his ledger, especially if he’s becoming a person of interest. 

Deciding he’s totally fucked, Keith mutters an angry agreement and leads the fucker back to his apartment. 

Ppalkkan regards their unwelcome guest with suspicion, and he fixes his yellow eyes on him as the Fed takes in the simple studio. 

“Cozy,” he mocks, and Keith watches the cat’s hackles rise. Silently, Keith hopes this fucker is allergic to cats. The Fed makes himself comfortable on Keith’s ugly couch, so Keith has to drag the plastic folding chair through the window that leads to his minuscule balcony, which is really just the section of the fire escape that cuts beneath his apartment. 

The Fed raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his Holopad. The Fed’s name printed on a sticker adhered to the case:  _ Lance McClain - Shroud.  _

Keith studies it with a frown, “I thought this was off the record. I thought that was the deal.” 

“It  _ is _ off the record,” the Fed says like Keith is the crazy one.

Keith stares at the tablet and then shoots a pointed look at McClain, who still looks confused. Finally, Keith grumbles, “That’s a Federation Holopad!”

“So?” McClain draws out the single syllable. 

“Then this is on the record!”

“Chill, I’m just taking notes; I’m not going submit them or anything, man,” McClain explains. 

Keith laughs, like actually outright laughs. It’s an ugly, mocking sound, colored by his disbelief, “Are you fucking kidding me? You  _ really _ think Honerva and her devoted underlings can’t see  _ everything _ on that Holopad? Fuck, it’s probably recording us right now. Toss it out the window or something. I’m not saying shit until it’s out of earshot.” 

McClain blinks at him. He presses his mouth into a line and looks thoughtful, like he’d never considered as much, which Keith thinks is fucking  _ stupid _ . It’s so irritating that it makes him a little loose-lipped, “The Federation has their dogs trained so well. You don’t even question the bullshit they feed you, do you? You’re so convinced that you’re the good guys. You just swallow it down and say thanks.” 

McClain’s face contorts, reddening, but then his expression shifts, like he’s had an idea, and he leans forward in his seat, like Keith has offered him something particularly  _ good _ . Excited and accusatory, McClain crows, “So you  _ are _ against the Federation? You’re an Anarchist!”

Keith is pretty sure his heart stutters for a beat, and then he regains enough composure to sputter, “What! No! What the fuck? I’m not a fucking Anarchist.” His gaze drops to the tablet and fear is a noose around his vulnerable throat. Terrified and irate, he spits, “Get that thing out of here!”

McClain ignores him. He declares, “But you hate the Federation, so you must be an Anarchist!”

The vicious laugh bubbles up in Keith’s throat again before it softens into something bitter and resigned. He whispers, “Is that how it works? You either support the Federation or you’re an Anarchist? With us or against us? Fuck you. Fuck you. This is over. Get out.” 

Frustrated, Keith shoves his chair away and runs a hand through his bangs. It clatters against the coffee table, which collapses. 

Fuck, he probably just woke up the whole building. 

“Dammit,” Keith swears. How did this happen so fast? Are they cracking down? Fuck, he should’ve just fucking ran and never looked back when McClain approached him tonight. He should’ve grabbed Ppalkkan and everything he could carry and hit the road. 

McClain, who still hasn’t gotten the hell out because he must be some kind of glutton for punishment, insists, “Hey, but we’re not done yet!”

Keith rounds on him, dangerous, boiling with anger, corrosive with it, and he feels like he’s no longer in his own body. His hands shake with the intensity of his feelings. 

It rises up so suddenly.

The fire within him roars to life, thriving on the fuel of an entire metaphorical forest, ready to consume everything in his past and burn it to ash.

But then there’s a knock at the door. 

“Keith? Is everything okay?” 

Keith bites his tongue, “M’fine.”

“I just... I heard voices. I’m sorry.” 

Keith sucks in a breath to ground himself, “It’s fine, Shay.”

“Shay?” McClain echoes.

There’s a pause, “Lance?”

And then McClain throws open the door. 

 


	5. Heathens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance intrudes.

It’s dark on the landing, but Lance knows he’s looking at Shay, and it’s jarring in a number of ways.

Firstly, it’s always weird to see someone he knows while he’s working, and it’s worse right now because he feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

He knows this is shady. 

Like, he wants to uphold their new legal processes, but their justice system is still in its infancy. Sometimes they have to play fast and loose with the law. 

It’s just not exactly great for public relations, so they try to keep their more unsavory practices both infrequent and out of the public eye. 

Second of all, he just didn’t expect to see Shay, well,  _ here _ . She’s such a warm, gentle person, and this is such a cold, cruel part of town. If he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes, he never would’ve guessed she would be living in such a shitty building in such a shitty part of town.

Like he said, it’s jarring. 

As Shay blinks at him like he’s some kind of mirage, Lance panics, his face flushes, and he babbles some sort of nervous nonsense. 

He winces when he thinks of what Allura would say if she could see him right now. Romelle would laugh. Pidge would roll her eyes. 

He bites his tongue in an attempt to shut himself up, and then he tries to redirect his focus on the reason he’s here.

Glowering, Lance turns back to face Keith, who Lance feels is the entire root of his current problem, which may be unfair.

Still, he decides, this is Keith’s fault, and he’s an asshole. 

Keith remains hovering in the doorway of his flat. Arms crossed over his chest, Keith eyes them both wearily like one of them is fire and the other is gasoline. 

No one says anything else until Shay musters up a small smile and offers and awkward apology, “I’m sorry for bothering you so late, Keith.”

Keith waves her off, “It’s no big deal. Really.”

Seemingly satisfied by his assurance, Shay nods to herself and then looks between the two of them, “I didn’t know that you two were friends?”

Friends! Yes! Shay just thinks their friends! This is perfect. It means Lance isn’t just some corrupt Fed abusing his power! 

And then Keith opens his mouth, and Lance knows he’s about to expose him, so he elbows him in the ribs and laughs, “Um, yeah! We’re super close! We go to the same... um, corner store! To buy... cat food? Cat food, yeah!” 

It’s not at all believable, but Shay isn’t the type to call him on his bullshit. She’s too nice. Still, her expression clouds a little in confusion, and she fiddles with the little charm on her necklace as she studies him with her intelligent eyes. 

Meanwhile, Keith seems to be baffled Lance’s terrible attempt at a cover story, but amused. He looks smug, like the cat that got the cream, and one corner of his jaw twitches like he’s trying not to outright smirk. 

See? Definitely an Asshole. 

Ugh.

“Oh, I see,” Shay finally mumbles, but it’s clear that she doesn’t see at all. Her eyes drop to the basket in her hands. “Um. I heard your voice, so I wanted to bring this to you tonight. Grandmother insisted I wait up so you could have it.” Shay unwraps the contents to reveal a bottle of water, gauze, bandages, some disinfectant, a needle with thread, and a little white pain reliever, which makes Lance’s eyes widen in surprise. 

Medicine has been in short supply since the end of the WWIV. 

They’ve made some progress in the last decade, but it could still be expensive and only a handful of people were able to keep any on hand. Usually, only the elderly, the infirm, clinics, and hospitals had access to them, and they were highly controlled. 

Either someone here had an illegal connection, or someone was willingly going to go without their medication for Akira Keith Kogane. 

Lance frowns. 

Is Keith  _ coercing _ Shay’s family or something?

That’s fucked up. Shay is like the nicest person in the world, which is why Lance is convinced she and Hunk are made for one another. 

Lance knows Hunk’s been in love with her since she started coming into the bakery a year ago, and Lance was pretty sure she felt the same way. 

I mean, she usually spent an at least an hour at the bakery, choosing a loaf of bread and sipping a steaming cup of herbal tea. Somehow she always manages to come during the hours that the shop would be slow, which gave her and Hunk time to talk and make soft eyes at each other. 

Hunk had finally gotten the courage to ask her out a few months ago, and it definitely involved running through the rain to the train station and heartfelt confessions, but Shay turned him down. She liked him, but she was trying to care for her ailing grandmother and dating wasn’t an option for her at the time. 

She still visits the shop twice a week, and Hunk won’t kiss and tell, but Lance swore he caught them doing just that one time on a Monday afternoon.

Before Lance can consider the matter further, Keith says, “I’m okay. But thank you.”

“You need stitches,” Shay tells him as she gestures at the cut above his brow. “And I think some of your ribs are bruised.” 

As far as Lance is aware, Shay works part time in a department store, so he’s a little shocked to hear her throwing around sound medical advice like it’s nothing. 

“I can do it myself,” Keith shrugs. 

Shay shakes her head, “Your stitches are sloppy.” 

And then Keith  _ pouts _ . 

Holy shit.

Seriously, Akira Keith Kogane, hardened criminal, former gang member, street fighter, possible Anarchist, giant asshole, purses his lips like he’s been insulted but knows Shay is right. 

And something about it strikes Lance as  _ cute _ . 

Wait. What? Fuck. Shit. Fuck. 

Keith sighs and steps to the side, “Fine.”

And then Lance finds himself sitting in a dark, dilapidated apartment watching Shay patch and sew Keith up like a professional.

Moreover, she doesn’t seem harassed, distressed, or cowed; she’s relaxed. She carries on light conversation with Keith with the ease of old friends. Keith’s response is a bit stilted, but Lance imagines that’s his own fault. Before Keith answers Shay, his eyes briefly dart over to check to see if Lance is paying attention.

Suddenly, Lance feels like the intruder, and he realizes with guilt that he’s been an intruder all along. 

When Shay finishes, she snips the thread and sanitizes the needle over the flame of a candle before she deposits her supplies back into her basket. 

Sensing that they’re finished with the delicate process, Ppalkkan hops of the window sill and ambles over to Shay with a rumbling purr. She opens her hands to him, and he rubs his head against her wrist and fingers. He lets her pet him before he nuzzles into Keith’s thigh and aims a bemused glare at Lance. 

“I should be going,” Shay says as she stands. She stretches a little to relieve the tension from holding herself so steady, and Lance follows her lead.

He fakes a yawn, “Yeah, it’s uh, getting pretty late. I’m going to go too... Uh,” he hesitates and tries to keep up the facade of friendship. “Uh, bye, Keith, I guess.”

It comes out awkward and unsure, and then Shay’s perceptive eyes narrow. 

Shay bids Keith goodnight, and they leave the apartment together. Lance thinks he’s in the clear when Shay stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “Let me walk you out?”

“Uh, that’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Please,” she repeats, which is about as close as Shay comes to being assertive, and Lance knows she’s not about to take no for an answer. 

“Uh, sure,” Lance tries for casual, but it comes out a little wrong. He glances back at the closed door wistfully before he follows Shay down the stairs.

Kogane will probably be gone by morning. 

There goes his lead on the Ring. 

When they’ve nearly reached the first floor, Shay finally speaks. Gently, she clears her throat and says,  “Keith is a really good person.”

Lance almost snorts. Really? Shay is awfully forgiving, or maybe she just doesn’t know any better. Kogane probably never told her about his criminal activity, though she must be suspicious if he comes back with those sorts of injuries. 

Aloud, Lance makes a soft noise of agreement. Shay continues, “I don’t know what he’s told you, he’s very private, but he’s had a difficult life.”

Lance’s eyebrows raise a little, and Shay bites her lip self-consciously as she mulls over her next words. “I don’t know if he has any friends, and I’ve never seen him bring anyone home with him, okay?”

“Okay,” Lance absently replies as he tries to decode what she’s telling him. 

“Just... Take care of him, okay? He deserves something good.”

Shay turns away quickly, hiding her face because she’s said too much, so she doesn’t see Lance pale and then flush. 

She does hear him sputter, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she moves back up the stairs and tosses an embarrassed farewell over her shoulder. 

For several minutes, Lance stands next to the exit and stares in confused horror.

Because he’s pretty sure that Shay Balmera thinks he’s dating Keith Kogane.

Fuck. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I hate the title. Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
